Andrew Wilson - God of All Things: Rediscovering the Sacred in an Everyday World

When is a building more than a building?

As I was reading the book you now hold, I found my mind returning to the church of my childhood. I spent many Sunday mornings in the sanctuary of the First United Methodist Church of Wichita Falls, Texas. Small towns in Texas are unexpected places to stumble on grandeur, but the wealthy oil barons of the early twentieth century left behind a few architectural gems. First Methodist was modeled on the design of a gothic cathedral, its soaring sanctuary wreathed in stained glass and carvings, with a massive rose window filling the chancel.

Since I am now a full-time Bible teacher, I would like to tell you I always paid rapt attention to the Sunday sermon. But the truth is my attention often wanderedto the windows, the carvings, and the items tucked into the pew rack in front of me. There, next to the hymnal and the attendance folio, was a small booklet titled Eye Gate: Sermons in Symbols, written by Eleanor M. Robbins. The booklet was filled with explanations of the images that surrounded me in glass and stone and wood, each carefully chosen to teach a truth about God.

So while I often failed to listen carefully to the sermon, I nevertheless learned that the peaked windows and arches of the sanctuary were meant to resemble hands folded in prayer. I learned that the seven steps from the nave to the altar symbolized the seven attributes of the Lamb written in Revelation 5. The rose window contained six doves to represent the gifts of the Spirit prophesied in Isaiah 11:12. There were pomegranates and lilies, stars and flames, thorns and chalices and clovers, each image or item echoing a biblical truth. The light fixtures were designed to look like censers, representing the prayers of the saints rising to God. Worked into the front of the pulpit was an intertwined monogram of the Greek letters alpha and omega. The entire building was preaching the Word of God in symbol, all without uttering a word.

When is a rose window more than a rose window?

In the tradition of the medieval gothic architects of Europe, the architects of First United Methodist Church constructed a building not just to dazzle the eyes but also to teach. Deliberately and masterfully, they designed a space that repeated the words of Scripture in memorable ways through stone and glass and wood. Any passing visitor to the church, Christian or not, would be moved to wonder by the beauty of the space they had designed. But those who recognized its symbols would be moved to worship and remembrance.

The Bible, too, is the work of an architect, though we sometimes forget this. Through the pens of human authors, that divine architect has filled our sacred text with carefully chosen imagery. Many readers have remarked on the Bibles poetry or its historical narratives, but those with an eye for its imagery will be moved to worship and remembrance. Each of the authors of the sixty-six books of the Bible shares something in common with those cathedral builders: a commitment to teach through repetition what is true about God in memorable ways.

When is a mountain more than a mountain? When is a garden more than a garden?

We live in a time when our education systems often fail to teach us how to properly read literaturewith an eye for authorial intent. We approach a book assuming that it is our job to assign it meaning, asking, What does this book mean to me? But the work of the reader, properly understood, is not to assign their own personal meaning to a text but to uncover the meaning the author intended to convey. No author sits down to write without first considering how and what they wish to communicatethe architectural design behind what they are writing. No author puts pen to paper or fingers to keyboard without first asking, How can I help my reader arrive at a proper understanding of my message?